Chapter 41

Georgie sighed and put down her book, and wandered restlessly over to look out across the silvered water with unseeing eyes. The weather was fine today, as it had not been for most of the summer, and she had taken the opportunity to sit outside, in the Duchess's Garden, and enjoy the sun, weak and hazy as it still was in this most unusual of years. The sunset later, she knew, would be a spectacular show of oranges and fiery reds. But she would probably watch it alone. Gabriel was, she presumed, busy somewhere about the estate, dogs at his heels, as he so often was these days.

They had not remained in York long after she had been wounded. Everyone was of the opinion that they would do much better in the safety of Northriding Castle just as soon as Georgie was pronounced fit to travel. She had not been left alone for a moment while they stayed in Petergate – whether she woke or slept, Gabriel, Blanche, Cassandra or Hal had always sat with her, and she had been glad of it at first, even though everybody reassured her – and themselves – that there could not be the least danger. No trace had ever been found of Mrs Aubrey, and her brother too soon departed from the city.

There had been a curious little scene soon after the shooting, which Hal had described to her but which naturally she had not witnessed for herself, that had occurred when Gabriel and her brother went to see Hart where he languished in captivity. It was unclear with what he could realistically be charged, in fact, since he had claimed complete ignorance of any pistol or any murderous designs his sister might have cherished towards the Duke or towards Georgie; he also denied with great indignation having had the least intention of kidnapping her or doing her any other sort of harm, though he had perforce admitted engaging in a foolish, drunken brawl with Gabriel, from which, of course, he had come off much the worse. And he had, he said, not the faintest clue where Caroline might have gone, although he suspected it would be abroad, if she was sensible. She had her wits to sustain her, but little money. It seemed that the authorities continued to hold Hart as much for his own protection as for any other reason, as there was a fair chance that he would be set upon and offered serious violence if he so much as showed his face in a city whose inhabitants were, almost to the last man and woman, enraged with him and his sister and desperate to lay hands on them.

Gabriel had been ushered into his fetid cell and left alone with him. Hal stood outside and watched through the bars as his new brother-in-law spoke, at length, fluently and intensely, but far too low to be audible to anyone but his intended audience of one. As he spoke, the Captain's face grew paler and paler, and he appeared to lose the power of speech. He could still nod, though, and he did, repeatedly, vigorously. Whatever Gabriel was attempting to impress upon him, it was clear that the point had been well made and well taken. ‘He will not be troubling us further,' the Duke had told Hal with superb confidence as they left. ‘I do not think he will wish ever to set foot in Yorkshire again once he is set free. He knows well enough what will happen to him if he does so while I am alive, or any friend of mine. I have advised him to leave the country and not to return, and warned him of the consequences if he crosses my path once more.'

Georgie was excessively glad to hear that Hart would soon be gone, and most grateful for the kind attention everyone in the city seemed determined to press on her, though she would prefer if they did not go so far as to murder anybody on her behalf, but she found as she recovered that she started at sudden loud noises, reminding her as they must of gunshots. There were many such noises to disturb her peace, despite the straw Gabriel had ordered to be laid down in the street to muffle the sound of carriage wheels and let her get some rest. The doorknocker was never still, a constant stream of visitors attempting to gain admittance to the house, and quite often noisy crowds gathered outside in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her. The Duke was obliged to issue bulletins on her well-being, as though she were the poor King in one of his crises of ill health. An entirely baseless rumour that she was going into a decline somehow gained currency, and some well-meaning imbecile set a small band of fiddles to play popular airs under her window, in order presumably to raise her spirits. This it notably failed to do. It was this last occurrence which decided Gabriel that they must return to the seclusion and tranquillity of the Castle immediately, and her doctors conceded that it might be best. As for her, she was more than happy to agree, and eager to be gone.

That had been some weeks ago. York races had for once gone forward without the Duke of Northriding in attendance, though he had a horse running. Hal and Cassandra were there in his place, and wrote that they had been cheered to the echo when the crowd had somehow divined that Lord Irlam was the Duchess's brother. Lady Blanche had had a similar experience, as had Lady Ashby, apparently much recovered and going about in society again, when they made a family party up together. It seemed ridiculous. It was ridiculous.

Her wound was almost healed now. Gabriel had, perhaps understandably, downplayed its gravity when he had described it to her after she first awoke, for she soon realised that it was in truth no mere scrape or graze. The bullet had caught the outer edge of her left arm and ploughed its way through it, leaving a sort of channel behind in which one could quite easily have inserted a finger, had one been minded to, though Georgie was very grateful that nobody apart from the doctor did so. It would undoubtedly leave a substantial and lasting scar, and the skin about it was still tight and uncomfortable, though she had been assured that this was quite usual. Another inch and it would have missed her entirely. But then, if its trajectory had been a few inches the other way, it would have struck her in the lung or full in the heart, and she would undoubtedly be dead. And if it had missed her completely, it might easily have struck Gabriel and killed him. She could not regret any part of it, therefore.

Gabriel, though… She knew he had been deeply affected by what happened, though he had not spoken of it since that one occasion when she first woke. She was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to look at her and not see her falling, not see her lying insensible and bloodstained in his arms. He seemed to believe – and in thinking this she was merely guessing, seizing on clues that he let fall by accident, for he said nothing to her of his innermost thoughts and little enough on any but the most trivial of subjects – that what had happened was his fault; that somehow he had failed to protect her, failed to do his duty by her as her husband. He treated her now as though she were made of spun glass: infinitely fragile and delicate, liable to be shattered by the slightest breeze that blew. He kissed her hand, he spoke to her with enormous tenderness and consideration, if she expressed the lightest wish he would move heaven and earth to gratify it, but he did not come to her bed, and he had not made love to her since the shooting.

She had understood that he would not touch her with amorous intent while she was still in pain, while the wound remained unhealed. That was eminently reasonable, considerate, and if sometimes even now she woke in the night and cried out from nightmares of attack, and would have welcomed the comfort that his presence would have brought her, she could be patient. She had been patient.

But she was healed; she had told him so, and so had her doctors. There was the local man, who came daily, and the more distinguished practitioner who was driven out from York each week at Gabriel's insistence, and both reported to him on her progress in great detail, she knew. And still he did not come.

She was not with child. Her courses had arrived with tedious punctuality just a few days after her accident – it had not been precisely or entirely an accident, since Mrs Aubrey had after all drawn the weapon on them and might have meant to use it, but it was a good, safe, harmless word to use even to herself – and she thought it likely that he knew that too. He would have wanted to know her condition, surely, being greatly concerned with the matter and worried besides about her health, and the household staff who waited on her in York, as here at the Castle, were all his people, devoted to him since childhood, his or theirs or both. She had bled again here a month later, had just done with it.

And she was done with waiting. Her arm pained her hardly at all now, and she wanted him back in her bed, where he belonged. Tonight, she resolved. She would seduce him tonight.

She went to her chamber and dressed with great care. Gabriel had passed over the splendid Northriding jewels on their marriage, and had also bought her others as wedding gifts, which she had till now had no opportunity to wear. After some deliberation, she chose a great sapphire pendant, which nestled at the end of its silver chain just between her breasts. It had blue fire in its depths, and he had said when he presented it to her that it reminded him of her eyes. Very well. In York before her wedding she had ordered several gowns suitable for her new status as a married woman, and she paired the jewel with the most daring of them. It was silver tissue, very low cut, very simple, clinging to the curves of her breast, belly and legs in a manner that censorious persons might have described as indecent; she hoped this was true. She wanted to be indecent for him tonight. The neckline dipped down in the centre front to meet the high waist, showing a great deal of cleavage, and at the rear plunged too, in a deep vee that left her back almost completely bare. It had, she recalled, been designed to be worn over a chemise made up in contrasting fabric and edged with a piece of costly, delicate lace, which was meant to fill the gap and at the same time draw subtle attention to it, and to cover her stays, which would otherwise be exposed. But this evening Georgie was not in the mood for subtlety, and wore no stays and only the mostly flimsy of chemises. Her maid blinked when she understood her mistress's instructions, but made no comment.

The sleeves were almost transparent, and did not cover her scar completely, but she had decided that she would disdain to hide it. It was a permanent reminder of a significant thing that had happened to her, and she would not attempt to conceal it from the world. If people did not like it, let them look away. She did not think Gabriel would look away from her tonight. She did not mean that he should.

They met for dinner. They were alone, Lady Blanche and her children still being in York with a party of friends. She was the Duchess now, the mistress of this place, and, taking advantage of her new authority, had ordered that tonight's meal be served in the smallest dining room the Castle possessed; they sat in formal state at either end of the rectangular table, but it was not large, and so they were not far from each other. It was an intimate space, dark red in its decoration, with pictures chosen by some Mauleverer ancestor with a decided penchant for semi-naked goddesses and other mythical personages, who inevitably seemed to find themselves in perilous situations in the flimsiest and most provocative of drapery. Leda and the swan were here, embracing in a flurry of feathers and naked, splayed alabaster limbs, and so was Andromeda, chained to her rock with very little to preserve her modesty and an expression upon her face of coy expectancy edging into impatience. Here I am! she seemed to be thinking, but where is he? God knows Georgie could understand exactly how she felt.

Gabriel was handsome as ever in formal evening dress, and his silver eyes glittered in the candlelight as he looked at her across the board set with shining cutlery, bright crystal glasses and snowy linen. She was intensely aware of his eyes on her, and her nipples, much like those of Leda or Andromeda, pebbled under his gaze; she thought he could probably see, hoped he could, through the flimsy layers of fabric that covered her breasts. The fine hairs on her arms stood on end, and liquid heat began to pool between her thighs. It had been far too long. But they made light, inconsequential conversation as they ate, their eyes catching, holding all the while, and then at last the discreet servants withdrew and left them alone in the quiet little room. Georgie felt that the libidinous painted heroines were urging her on, and sipped her wine, turning the glass and admiring the rich colour in the candlelight.

‘You are very fine this evening, Georgiana,' her husband murmured, and his beautiful voice set her skin tingling, stoking the fire within her, as it always did. ‘Are we celebrating some special occasion?'

‘Yes, we are,' she replied. ‘I hope you think it reason enough to celebrate. It is ten weeks tonight since we first met.'

‘I know it is.'

‘I thought you might have forgotten.'

‘I forget nothing when it comes to you.'

This was promising. She stood, and crossed the room to him. Very deliberately she took his glass from his hand and set it down, and moved the few remaining plates and pieces of cutlery from his end of the table, leaving it clear.

‘Do you have intentions towards me, my dear?' he said, with the pale ghost of a smile.

‘So many intentions.'

‘Good ones?'

‘Very bad ones.'

‘That sounds delicious.' His voice was ragged.

‘I hope you will be.'

Desire flared higher still in his eyes as he apprehended her meaning. But then he seemed to check himself. With what appeared to be a great effort at control, he said almost curtly, ‘You are unwell, hurt. Your wound. I cannot?—'

‘No, I cannot. I cannot endure any more that you absent yourself from my bed. My wound is better, is almost healed, and hardly pains me.'

‘Hardly is not?—'

‘I am recovered. And I want you back. Need you back. I am not made of china, Gabriel, I am made of flesh.'

‘And blood.'

‘Is that the problem?' She subsided into a chair at his side and looked sadly at him; she had feared this. ‘I thought it might be. Do you see me bleeding in your arms every time you look at me? Because if you do…'

He looked at her with dark hunger in his eyes and shook his head, his face pale but composed. ‘No. I must admit that I did for a while, every time I lay down to sleep. It was terrible – a mere nothing to what you have suffered, of course, but still most distressing – but it is fading with time now I know you are safe. I am so very glad that you are alive, and here with me when I could so easily have lost you for ever.'

‘It must have reminded you most horribly of losing your brother last year, and your cousin,' she persisted, not to be fobbed off.

‘It did, of course. How could it not? But it is fading,' he repeated.

She was not sure she believed him. ‘Make love to me, then,' she said.

‘I don't want to hurt you. I could not bear to hurt a single hair on your head after all you have been through.'

‘You won't.'

‘You can't be sure of that,' he said, with sudden impatience. ‘I would be very gentle, of course I would be, but even so…'

‘I don't want you to be very gentle. You know I don't.'

Again the sudden flare in his eyes that showed the desire he was keeping so tightly in check. She rose from her chair and slid to her knees between his thighs, the gauzy silver fabric billowing about her as she settled back on her heels and looked up at him, her neck and shoulder bare and her breasts barely covered, the sapphire glinting blue fire between them. He reached out and touched her cheek very softly, almost wistfully, and said, ‘You're so beautiful. So desirable. I know you want me too, and it's killing me.'

‘Why? Make me understand, Gabriel.'

‘I can't make you understand anything while you sit down there and look up at me like that,' he said roughly. ‘I can barely think straight, let alone speak.' He was close to losing control, she thought, and she was fiercely glad of it. She was thoroughly sick of his self-control.

She put her hand on his thigh and stroked the black silk of his breeches very slowly and deliberately. She could feel the heat of his flesh through the thin material. ‘So let me give you pleasure with my mouth and lips and tongue, and then afterwards you can explain everything when your mind is clearer. You must remember that we only did this once, the day after we were married, so you may have to remind me of just what you would like. I wish you would tell me.' Her voice was demure, in contrast with her words, and her fingers were on his buttons now, awaiting permission. Beneath her hands he was hard for her; she could feel it.

‘You're deliberately trying to seduce me.' It was almost a groan.

‘Of course I am. It doesn't seem to be working. I'm probably not very good at it.'

‘Oh, but you are. You're very good at it. And it's so tempting, Georgie, to let you unbutton me and take me in your mouth. I know exactly how wonderful it would be. I have dreamed of this, and of so many other things, these last weeks.'

‘Why won't you let me, then?'

He did not answer her directly, but shifted a little in his chair. ‘Could you be content,' he asked her, ‘if we always made love like that – our mouths on each other, or our hands, or all the other ways that do not lead to conception?'

She looked up at him in naked astonishment. ‘I thought you wanted – no, desperately needed a child. An heir. I thought that was the whole point of marriage for you, with me – with anybody, for God's sake!'

‘It was supposed to be. It is still supposed to be. Nothing has changed, and yet everything has. But now the thought of hurting you by my rough attentions, or, even worse, of you risking and perhaps losing your life to give me a child fills me with terror. And yet, if you take me in your mouth – Christ, I am so hard just thinking of it! – in a little while I know it will not be enough, and I will want to lay you down on that table, pull up your skirts and join myself with you so that I can come inside you where I belong.'

‘I want that too. It is exactly where you belong.'

‘Christ, I know you do. Georgie, you are so good, so brave, you are everything that is admirable, but I am a terrible person. I have always known it, but now more than ever I realise it is so. There must be something wrong with me, as my father always said.'

He grimaced; now he had begun, he was obliged to go on, little though it appeared he wished to share these dark thoughts with her. ‘I said, did I not, that I wanted you so much that I was prepared to take you even if you were forced to marry me? That was true then, and that was bad enough. Unforgiveable, really, and I will understand if you feel you can never forgive me for it. But that was when I felt a mere fraction of what I feel for you now. Now, now I could almost wish that I had married some woman I did not care for, some woman I even disliked. Even though it would have meant losing you.'

She felt chilled, and could barely muster the voice to say, ‘Why?'

‘Because if she had died bearing me a child, I would not have cared. Not really. I would have been deeply sorry, of course, and felt responsible, I am not a complete monster, but… But if you do, if I cause your death by my actions, it will destroy me too. I realised that when I thought you were mortally wounded. I knew then that my own life would be over if yours was.'

Georgie saw with shock and a sudden spark of hope, so intense that it was almost painful, that there were tears on his face, running down unheeded, and she could hear the raw anguish in his voice as he went on, ‘I don't want to feel like this. I never have before, God knows, and I hate it. I love you, Georgiana, with all my heart and soul I love you, and it is torture!'